


Someone cares?

by dancergrl1



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fever, Fever Dreams, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 05:31:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14098299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancergrl1/pseuds/dancergrl1
Summary: Philip gets sick, and his past has always told him that being sick doesn't end well. Anne shows him that someone can care, and what he knows isn't always what's right.





	Someone cares?

**Author's Note:**

> So since it's canon that Philip's parents suck, i wrote this because it wouldn't leave me alone. Enjoy!

Philip could feel the sickness building slowly, like a storm. 

 

It started with the stuffiness in his nose. He felt it get worse throughout the day, every once in a while trying to clear it out with ugly, thick sniffles in.  Anne slipped into his office, where he was still wrapped in his coat because he couldn’t get warm. It was because it was still winter. Not because he was ill. 

 

He couldn’t be ill. 

 

He felt her cool hand on his forehead, and his eyes slipped closed in pleasure. It felt nice, even though he was cold. Her gasp made him look at her, her hand slipping off his head. 

 

“Philip, you’re burning up!” She exclaimed. 

 

He shook his head. “I’m fine.” He had to be. Being sick was less than unpleasant. “You have a show to rehearse. Go, i love you, and I promise I’m fine.” 

 

Anne walked out slowly. She stopped every few steps to look back over her shoulder at him. After the door closed, he let out a cough he’d been holding back and took his handkerchief to blow his nose. It felt like all he’d done was blow the pressure up underneath his forehead. Ugh, he felt like hell.

—

Later in the day, he was still in his office. He was wishing it was socially acceptable to go around in just his undershirt, it was so hot in here. He’d poured himself half a glass of water, but was confused and didn't know where he’d left it. (He found it a few minutes later when he knocked it with his elbow putting his head on his desk. Now he was wrapped back in his coat.)

 

This time it was PT Barnum himself who let himself through the door of his office. “Philip?” He asked

 

Philip tried to raise his head to reassure him, but it didn’t work. It felt too heavy. He closed his eyes, and he didn’t see Phineas step back into the hallway to call out. He heard him though. 

 

“Anne!” 

 

“No...not Anne...the show…” He was muttering incoherently. Another cool hand at his forehead quieted him. 

 

“You said you were fine, sweetheart. What happened?” She was cooing at him like he was a child, but he didn’t mind. It felt...nice, to be cared for. 

 

“You wanna take him home?” Barnum asked softly. 

 

“Not sure he’ll make it.” She responded sadly. 

 

He felt a pair of hands haul him up by the arms, and the change in position sent everything rushing to his head. He closed his eyes against the onslaught of dizziness. 

 

“Philip?” The voice was impossibly soft. 

 

He hummed in response, a low sound. 

 

“Philip?” It was more insistent. 

 

He opened his eyes again, relieved to see the world not spinning. “Anne?” He asked. He didn’t remember her coming back in. She had rehearsal. Theoretically, so did he. 

 

“Philip, can you make it to a carriage?” Anne asked. 

 

He shook his head. Anne sighed. “Alright. Let’s go then.” She would put him in her and WD’s tent in the back, he wouldn’t mind. 

 

He felt arms haul him up to his feet, and he wasn’t sure what happened after that. 

—

He came to in a bed, under a smaller tent. “Philip?” Anne asked softly. 

 

He rolled his head towards her. “Hey,” he rasped. 

 

Anne shook her head. “Why didn’t you say anything? You had me worried.” 

 

Philip shook his head. He didn’t want to tell her. They respected the other’s right to privacy and to talk about, or not talk about, their pasts. 

 

“Are you thirsty, Philip?” She asked softly. She didn’t give him a chance to answer as she brought a glass to his lips. He wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t.

 

“Alright. It’s alright.” Anne whispered. “Just sleep, Philip.” 

 

“But...the show?” He asked pitifully. 

 

Anne shook her head. “No, sweet pea. Not tonight. Sleep.”

 

He did. 

—

_ He was six, and he was violently ill. He hadn’t left the bathroom since he’d woken that morning.  _

 

_ “PHILIP BAILEY CARLYLE!” His father yelled. Philip could barely bring himself to moan.  _

 

_ He heard the footsteps on the stairs. Tears slipped from his eyes. He knew he was gonna be in trouble.  _

 

_ The bathroom door slammed open, and Philip, despite being barely coherent, jumped. It was an instant reaction to loud noises.  _

 

_ His father didn’t even speak to him as he dragged him out of the bathroom. He didn’t know where they were, but he felt it as his father stopped, presumably to open a door. He shivered, he knew what was coming.  _

 

_ “Please, father, no,” he begged.  _

 

_ His father looked at him with such distaste it was like he was tasting the vomit Philip had been bringing up all morning.  _

 

_ His father refocused on the task at hand. Philip felt himself hit the wall of the closet. He scrambled into the corner, wrapping the thin blanket around himself. He knew he’d stay here until his father saw fit to let him out, when his father assumed he was no longer sick.  _

 

_ He sat and cried until he passed out. Whether from exhaustion or illness, nobody would know.  _

\---

Anne felt Philip shaking next to her. Looking down, she saw the heat flushing his face, and the tears tracking down the sides of his face. 

 

She shook him urgently, wincing at how hot he felt. “Philip, c’mon baby, wake up, please wake up.” she muttered urgently. With a strangled gasp that lead to a cough, he woke. 

 

“What...where...why...huh?” he asked, confused. 

 

“Philip?” Anne said. Cloudy eyes turned to her. 

 

“Anne?” he asked tiredly. She reached out a hand to him, cupping his cheek carefully. 

 

“Yeah. Why didn’t you tell anyone?” she asked softly. 

 

“Couldn’t. Father doesn’t like it when I’m sick.” he murmured tiredly. 

 

Anne, once again, swore loudly at her parents in her mind. She hated them. They did this to him. 

 

“Philip, I care if you’re sick. You need to tell someone.” She was angry, but so concerned. 

 

“But...when ‘m sick...get put in a room...nobody cares...i’s dark...an’ cold...scares me…” His words were slurred, but she understood the meaning. She had a few words for his parents if she ever saw them. 

 

“Philip, I will never leave you alone, espcially if you’re sick. But someone has to know.” Anne wanted to cry. This wasn’t fair to him. To any of them. 

 

“Anne?” He sounded lost, sad. 

 

“Right here.” She ran a gentle hand over his face. Good god he was hot. 

 

“I’m sorry I’m sick. Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

 

Anne choked back a sob. “It’s alright. Let’s get you sleeping again.” 

 

“Stay?” His voice was small, like it wasn’t supposed to come out at all.

 

“Always.” 

 

They slept. Philip didn’t see his parents in his dreams again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Review? Feel free to leave ideas!


End file.
